Wednesday morning I walked to the school which, thanks to Soo’s directions the previous evening and a swarm of lavender uniform-clad students, I found without a problem. I hadn’t been able to sleep well the previous night, and had even dreamt that I missed the first day. As it turned out, I arrived at school a full hour before I was required to show up. I was unsure of where to go so I sat on a bench on the far side of the school, pondering my new existence in Ulsan. Will I be able to handle my job? Will people like me? Will I be able to give my students the love I already have ready to give them?
Eventually, I noticed a teacherly looking sort walk into the front of the school. I followed him inside and he showed me where to store my shoes and find teaching slippers. (He had obviously realized that I was the new waygook teacher. Also, in Korea, no one wears street shoes at school. Teachers essentially wear socks and sandals inside, a style I only recently mocked but have quickly come to accept as an inevitable reality).
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| My School |
Mentor Teacher eventually came into the office appearing a little flustered. The day before, she told me that today I would meet the other teachers and say hello to a few students, but I wouldn’t begin teaching until Thursday. “You’re ready to teach today?” she said this as a question, which translates into “You had better be ready because you’ll be teaching today, after all.” (Cue: Korean Surprise confetti). Thankfully, I still had the “Meet Rosa” PowerPoint presentation I used in Romania on my personal laptop. “Yes, of course. I’m happy to teach today. When is my first class?” I learned that I wouldn’t have to teach until noon, leaving me several hours to modify and improve my PowerPoint.
Another teacher gave me a school laptop that will be mine exclusively during my employment here in Daun-dong. I finished setting up my computer and Mentor Teacher and an older, well-dressed woman whisked me down to the Holy of Holies, the Principal’s Office. I am not a shy person but the prospect having the hierarchical god of the school build a first impression of me was enough to thoroughly silence my extraversion. (This is a good thing: Being humble and reserved is a very positive trait in Korean society, particularly for those at the very bottom of the food chain).
I entered the office with Mentor Teacher and the other woman. The Principal, a tall, middle-aged man, stood up from his desk and smiled. I bowed with my greeting of “안녕하세요” and presented the principal with the bag of Caribou Coffee that I bought back in Minnesota. He thanked me and, through Mentor Teacher, said that he loves coffee. Mentor Teacher then told me that the woman who walked down with us was the Vice Principal, so I immediately greeted her and gave her the jar of honey I brought for her. The gifts seemed to start our meeting off on a positive note; we were asked to sit and a series of basic questions followed. Where was I from? Why did I want to teach in Korea? What is my age? (My answer generated noticeable commentary. I could tell they were remarking that I was “so young” at 24... even though I consider my true age to be 23. Korea just begins counting at birth so everyone from a country that waits a year to call their children “1” ages a year when they come here). Through Mentor Teacher, the Principal and Vice Principal that they were pleased to find me to be an attractive person and that they liked me. Also, aside from teaching English, they want me to use my experiences of traveling to teach the students that their dreams can come true. (I like this).
After the meeting, Mentor Teacher unlocked the English room and handed me the keys. She informed me that I could use the morning to prepare for my classes before returning to the Teachers’ Room to prepare for her own classes. Alone at last, I welcomed the privacy and space of the classroom. I opened the windows and doors to allow the thick summer air to circulate. As soon as the bell rang, I had dozens of eyes peeking in the doors. I heard whispering in Korean and some words in English. One was repeated by several students: “Pretty!”
It’s sometimes hard for me to remember just how much I stand out here, physically, until I catch my reflection or notice the stares. I’m surrounded by black and dyed-auburn hair that I often forget my own stark contrast to the scene around me. It is kind of nice to have traits considered beautiful in Korea; the double eyelid and the naturally light-colored hair, neither of which have merited me much attention in the past, are considered coveted, exotic features here. It feels good to be called pretty or to hear: “Teacher! I like your eyes. I love your nose!” In spite of the compliments, though, I’m sad that the unique beauty of Korean eyes and noses and hair don't seem to be widely celebrated in Korea.
My first class, Grade 3 Middle (which is the equivalent to American Grade 9) went better than I could expect. Most of the boys in the class were enamored with me (several had said “Pretty!” to me as they entered the classroom) and a whole group of them sat right in front. I also met Teacher Gloria, one of my co-teachers, who translated when necessary. During and after my presentation, I let the students ask me questions. The very first things they asked me were 1) my age, and 2) whether or not I had a boyfriend. The previous day, Mentor Teacher specifically warned me against answering these two questions. (“It’s okay to lie to them. Don’t ever give them personal information”). Because of this warning, I didn’t answer either question but I did answer subsequent questions.
Next, I let each student randomly choose a slip of paper with an English name printed on it. (I carefully selected these names from sources including but not limited to: planets and constellations, the works of Shakespeare, the Brontë sisters, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, various examples of flora and fauna, and the American Girl Collection. It’s my goal to avoid duplicate names). I instructed the students to make stand-up name tags for their desks and invited each group of students come up to the front of the room and say, “Hello, my name is ____. Nice to meet you.”
It was a very easy model to follow and it took up the entire class period. After class, Teacher Gloria brought me down to lunch amidst stares and loud exclamations from students. One boy saw me and shouted, “I love you! I love you!” before telling Gloria: “She! More pretty than you!” Gloria corrected him, “You say, ‘as pretty as,’ not ‘more pretty.’” Oh dear. While I can’t lie about loving attention (I do love attention, believe me), I felt uncharacteristically shy and on display with such obvious and verbal scrutiny, particularly when being compared to my new colleagues.
At my school, teachers eat lunch in the cafeteria, albeit in a different section of the room than the students, and eat the school lunches. I like Korean food so this wouldn’t usually be a problem only... the meal was noodles. And despite years of using bamboo chopsticks at LeAnn Chin’s, I am hopeless with slippery metal chopsticks and spaghetti-like noodles. My meager attempts to capture the noodles were in vain. Gloria eyed my chopsticks and noodles with a look of blatant pity: “You can bring a fork if you need to, you know.” I would have liked to eat more noodles; the bite that I did manage was delicious but my appetite was almost as compromised as my capability from nervousness. Eventually, I moved on to the rice and kimchi, much easier targets for my chopsticks.
I had two more classes, each with a different co-teacher, Teachers Li and Song. Each time, when I opened up for questions, students first asked about age and boyfriend. (At lunch, Gloria advised me to tell them my age since age is so crucial to Korean culture. She said they might be more comfortable with me, knowing that I’m “young”). I included pictures of my family in the PowerPoint, and girls in both afternoon classes asked about my brother David. (“So handsome!”). After my last class, Teacher Song told me that she won’t translate future classes “I think they understand you and if I translate, they will stop listening to you.” Fair enough. I like her approach.
At the end of the day, I found some honey flavored toothpaste on my desk in the Teachers’ Room. It was a gift from some of the teachers, so I can join in their communal after lunch tooth-brushing ritual. (From what I have observed, everyone in Korea brushes teeth after lunch. It’s a good habit to make, and I think the community aspect is quite sweet). By 4:30, I counted the first day experience as a success. I think I’m going to like it here.
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